


Fenris and Those Kisses

by sporksoma



Series: Hawkeling Tales [4]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: A Hawkeling Tale drabble, Angst, Brooding, Carver is an ass, F/M, Kissing, Pining, angsty, relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-21
Updated: 2017-08-21
Packaged: 2018-12-18 00:09:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11862534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sporksoma/pseuds/sporksoma
Summary: When Carver unexpectedly shows up at the little Grunding house, things go pear-shaped, but Fenris winds up kissing Hawke.  But what do those kisses mean?  A Hawkeling Tales drabble.





	Fenris and Those Kisses

**Author's Note:**

> This probably won't make much sense unless you've read A Hawkeling Tale (at least the first chapters of it) so what are you waiting for? Read it! It's got even more Fenris and Hawke in there :D

Fenris fled the room, his heart pounding in his chest.  He had no idea what Hawke was doing, behind him, but she hadn’t yelled at him nor slapped him, so he found his boldness had been… rewarded, perhaps?

He hurried down the stairs, ignoring, for the most part, the sounds of Carver, Merrill, and Orana in the kitchen.  He had kissed Hawke.  He had _kissed_ her.  Three times.  Granted, they weren’t the heart-stopping kisses they had shared that one night before, but they were initiated by him, and Hawke hadn’t… told him off, slapped him (he focused a lot on the idea of her slapping him, oddly) or looked disappointed when he did it. 

“I’m going to get fresh water,” he said, loudly enough that he was certain Orana had heard him, and quickly he picked up the largest of the buckets and slipped out the door, heading for the well in town.

The scene flashed through his head, again and again.  How soft Hawke’s lips were, how sweet she smelled and tasted and _felt_ against him.  He wanted to toss the bucket down and rush back, take her into his arms and kiss her until she forgave him for leaving those months ago, for being such a fool.  His heart pounded a rhythmic tattoo in his chest and he felt almost electrified, like Hawke had used one of her lightning spells around him in battle.

But he had settled, some, by the time he reached the well, and he took his time pulling up the well’s bucket to fill his own, forcing himself to calm further. Fenris wasn’t certain if he felt excitement or dread at the idea of returning to the little house, but he knew he had to master himself better before he could return.  As he went about his chore, various members of the town walked by and greeted him, asking after Hawke and Orana, and himself, he was surprised to note.  It was a friendly community, and he was content enough to respond to their pleasant overtures with the politest conversation he could manage. 

Which was, he was surprised to note, as he was returning home with the full bucket, much more polite than some would expect from him.  He seemed to have grown a little, during his time in Grunding, perhaps due to the interactions he had to have with the people, mostly to allay suspicions that they were anything but what they were presenting themselves to be.

Now with Carver there, a new story would have to be developed.  Surely he could be passed off as Hawke’s brother as well, despite this disparate coloring.  And that he was a templar should allay any further suspicions, for surely a templar would not let mages live freely in a house such as that?  He caught himself scowling as he thought about it and wiped the expression from his face; anyone who passed him would ask why he was scowling, if they noticed it, and he couldn’t have that.  He was too frazzled to make up a story, and his normal expression was more one of blankness.

Carefully toting the bucket with his left hand, he managed to get the door open with his right, and walked in on Hawke discussing sleeping arrangements.  She must not feel too injured, then, if she was up and about, although knowing Hawke, she might push herself past the point of pragmatism. 

“I suppose I’ll just share the bed with Fenris, and Carver can get the cot,” Hawke finally said, after silence had gone on too long.  “I’m fairly certain that’s the only way it would work out, anyway, unless Fenris decided to sleep on the sofa the entire time, or sleep on the floor.  Or Carver, although I’m afraid he’s much too tall for that sofa.”

“I will sleep on the floor,” Fenris said, as he came into the little kitchen and carefully set the heavy, full bucket of water on the floor. 

“You shouldn’t have to, Fenris.  We can share a bed.  It will be more comfortable for you, and should only be until we get hold of another one and the downstairs rooms are finished completely.  Harrold said it should be another week and then it will be ready to paint, and another few days after that we can move things in.”

“You… You should not have to, Mary.  You will be uncomfortable, sharing the bed with me.”

“Well, sleep on the couch, at least,” she urged him.  “The floor is too cold here, in the evening.”

“I will think on it,” he said, evasively.  “Is there naught else you need from the market?  I daresay it will be too late to get things, before long, and we were not expecting the extra company.”  He was hedging, and he knew it, but he wasn’t sure he could stand being in the room with Carver for much longer, much less Hawke.  The desire to take her into his arms came back strongly once he entered the little kitchen, nearly strong enough to take his breath away.  It was almost a physical ache.

“I don’t suppose you brought a blanket with you, brother?” Hawke asked, weakly.

“I suppose you missed the bags we had with us,” he acknowledged.  “We should have enough bedding.  If I have to, I can take the floor myself.”

“Maker, nobody is going to sleep on the floor in my home,” Hawke growled, thumping her fist on the table and causing Orana and Merrill to both jump. 

Fenris excused himself softly and disappeared out the back door.  If Hawke was going to be in a temper, he would certainly be wise to escape it, and the compulsion to grab her and kiss her did not lessen despite being in there with the others.  Best for him, best for _both of them_ , if he made himself scarce for the time being.

He busied himself by taking care of the mule.  Fenris wasn’t certain why they kept the animal around, except that loaning him out to other farming families nearby seemed to gain them some sort of goodwill, and Hawke liked him well enough, for all that he was a plain, and somewhat bad-tempered, beast.  But still, they pampered the thing enough, to Fenris’s mind, and it gave him an excuse to get out of the house, although it was a bit chilly out, lately.

Unfortunately, it was rather mindless work, and he found his attention going back to that moment no matter how he fought it.

_Hawke clapped quietly.  “That was an excellent story.  It even had a moral to it.  See?  You’re a natural at this.”  And she sat up and brushed her lips over his cheek, as if it were nothing.  Hawke seemed to freeze, then, and pulled herself away, muttering something, when Fenris turned his head enough to press their lips together.  Her mouth was soft, compliant, and she did not startle or pull away from him.  He felt the blood rush to his head as his heart sped up.  Quickly he did it again, and then, with some insane boldness inside of him, he did it a third time.  And then he was apologizing, pulling away from her and standing up, rushing out of the room without a glance behind, his heart pounding in his chest._

He wasn’t sure what would be worse: the idea that the brief kisses meant something to Hawke, and that she would expect more of him than he was afraid to give, or that they meant nothing to her, and she had no desire for him whatsoever.  The kiss on his cheek had to have meant something, didn’t it?  But he had seen her kiss Merrill similarly, Anders, Varric, Isabela, even Orana and Sandal _.  Perhaps it meant nothing at all_ , he thought, dejectedly.  But she had not slapped him, nor yelled at him, nor pulled away from him as he kissed her. 

Things went by as if in a fog for the rest of the day.  He and Hawke spoke after lunch, while he was doing the washing-up and Hawke was making a loaf of bread, but she did not bring up the topic of the kisses.  She _did_ mention that he had her affection, which caused a sort of warmth to spread through his chest in a most pleasant fashion, and then she asked for a foot massage, which he was happy to provide her with later on.

Her feet were swelling, and Hawke often complained about them paining her.  There was little Fenris could do to alleviate the pain, other than offer massages, and he had already given her a couple of them.  He wasn’t particularly talented in that area, and he was almost afraid of touching her, of hurting her by being too rough, but he greatly enjoyed giving her the massages, as it gave him an excuse to be close to Hawke without him needing to come up with something outlandish or look foolish.  He was the father of the child, as well; was it not his duty to help the mother, even in something as simple as pain relief?

They had only been settled on the sofa for a few minutes, with Hawke happily lying there, feet in his lap, when Carver came in and started in on her, again.  Fenris was getting the impression that Carver resented the fact that she was pregnant and unmarried more than she hadn’t told him to begin with, but both were egging him on to act more of an ass than usual, and Fenris wasn’t inclined to put up with the insults, for Hawke’s sake.

“Maker’s breath, you two, get a room!” Carver complained, _loudly_ , when he came in to Hawke moaning happily over how the foot massage felt.

“He’s massaging my _feet_ , Carver,” Hawke said, her voice sounding slightly slurred.  Fenris suspected she had been halfway towards falling asleep.

“It sounds like he’s a bit higher up than your feet, sister.”  He could feel his ears coloring, at what Carver was suggesting.  Fenris stopped rubbing on her feet; he could feel the heat flush over his face.

“Well, it’s just my feet.  You can see for yourself,” she called over her shoulder.  “I’m fully dressed and everything, if you don’t believe me.”

“How can I tell?  You’re huge under that thing.  It looks like you’ve got some sort of large ball underneath a tent of cotton,” Carver told her.  Fenris shot him a sharp look under furrowed brows.

“I _know_ , Carver.  I know I am huge under this dress.  But, I assure you, everything is still on appropriately, except stockings and shoes.  He’s just massaging my feet, and this is a courtesy he does me every so often because I _ache_ , Carver, more than you can ever know.”

“I might even massage her back later,” Fenris said.  “It depends on how crazy the evening gets.”  Why did he say that?  He flushed again, feeling a new wave of heat rise to the tips of his ears.  Hawke wouldn’t want him making suggestions like that.

The look Carver gave the two of them was at once suspicious and irritated.  “Maker, sister, is there _anyone_ you can’t get under your thumb?”

Hawke gestured towards the elf lazily.  “I’d hardly call that ‘under my thumb,’ brother.  He’s doing something nice for me.  I appreciate it.  I cook for him every day, after all.  It’s a trade-off.”

“Are you sure you two aren’t married?  You act like you’re married.  All the parts I remember from Mother and Father, at any rate.”

“We are not,” Fenris said, and kept his eyes on Hawke’s feet, which seemed to be a safe place to look.  The color did not diffuse, however.  He started up rubbing on her feet again at Hawke’s impatient gesture for him to do so. 

“Carver,” Hawke said, drawing her brother’s attention back to herself.

“What?”

“Shut.  Up.”  Hawke suggested, half-closing her eyes and moaning again as Fenris hit a particularly tense spot on her foot.  He hummed appreciatively at her enjoyment and moved his massaging up her leg slightly to around her ankles.  If Hawke wasn’t going to let herself be upset over Carver, he wouldn’t, either.  No matter how flushed he got.  Now the moans were starting to get to him; they sounded a lot like her moans that night, and _stop thinking about it, stop thinking about it¸_ he told himself sharply.  _Stop thinking about that, you fool!_

“I’m a grown man, you know, sister.”

Hawke made a rude gesture at him, at which Carver huffed and snorted.  “Where am I sleeping, _Mary_?”

“The cot in Fenris’s room,” she replied.  “I will sleep on Fenris’s bed, as the poor, huge woman who actually needs said bed.  Merrill and Orana will share my bed.  Fenris will either sleep in the bed with me, or here on the sofa, but absolutely not, under any circumstances, on the floor.”

“You two aren’t going to… you know… while I’m in there, right?”

He could nearly _see_ Hawke’s temper fray.  She sat up and scowled at Carver.  “There will be no ‘you knowing’ going on in this house while you are here, Carver, I assure you.  Much less while you are sleeping in the same room.”  She sank back down to a relaxed stance, wiggling her toes.  “We’re not you and Peaches by a long shot.”

“It was only that once,” Carver started, but Hawke flipped him the gesture again and Carver scowled at her, shutting up.

“Is that a promise?” Fenris said to Hawke, as Carver stomped his way up the stairs, carrying his bags of belongings upstairs.  At least, Fenris assumed they were his belongings; they were the bags he had shown up with, after all, dropped unceremoniously outside once Hawke fainted.

“Is what a promise?” she asked, then covered her mouth to stifle a yawn.  Yes, the massage _was_ relaxing her.  Good.

“’You knowing.’  Is that a promise?”

“Maker, not you, too,” she complained, pulling her feet away from him and sitting up.

“I was simply wondering if I needed to be concerned with that when the abom—when Anders comes back to visit.”

“You have no reason to be jealous,” she told him, sighing and placing a hand on his arm.  He didn’t look at her, instead looking down at his hands.  “I… Fenris, I understand, okay?”

“You do not,” he said, voice little more than a whisper.  She couldn’t understand.  She couldn’t feel the same way as him, how could she understand?

“I _do_ ,” Hawke insisted, taking one of his hands into both of hers.  “I understand.  And so long as you’re trying, I’ll try, okay?”

He darted a look to her, then looked away.  “What are you expecting from me, Hawke?” he asked, finally, boldly.

“I don’t know,” she admitted.  “Maybe I’ll know it when I see it.  But for now…  Well, we’re a team, right?  And we’re always going to be friends.”

“Yes,” he said.  “We will always be friends, no matter what.”  Maker, he hoped that was the case.  He would not want to abandon Hawke’s friendship for anything in the world.  Even if they would never be lovers, never be more than friends, he would not want to give that up.

“We’ll just have to see how things go from here,” she told him.  “Although I’ll admit that would probably go more smoothly without Carver here.”

“Your brother does certainly know how to cause tension,” Fenris said.  “Is there any way you can convince him to leave after Feastday?  He will, assuredly, not leave before then, and neither would I ask you to kick your brother out before a major holiday.  I know it’s the first without your mother…”

She smiled, a brittle-seeming thing.  “See?  You’re doing better than you give yourself credit for.”  Then she sighed and turned with her back to him and gestured towards it.  “Massage, if you don’t mind?”  He began gently thumbing the small of her back, starting in the center and going outward in loops.  She sighed and leaned into his touch, and he wanted to slide his hands around her waist and pull her to him, rest his head against her shoulder, kiss her lips again.  “Maker… That feels good.  You can stop never,” she told him.  “Anyway, we can try to get him to leave by inviting him back, but explaining we need the room.  The worst that will happen is that he won’t leave.”

“I will endeavor to not kill him,” Fenris promised, pressing the palms of his hands against her back as well.  Hawke leaned back, slightly, arching her back so as to put more pressure against his hand.

“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t,” she admitted.  “Or Merrill.”

“I can deal with the blood mage better than I can deal with your brother,” Fenris admitted, and Hawke chuckled at the idea. His palms pushed upwards, rubbing circles on her back and easing up the muscles; Hawke gathered her hair and pulled it over her shoulder, giving him better access.  He loved her hair; it was so long, and shiny, and he wanted to do nothing less than run his fingers through it, to see it framing her face as… No.  _Stop thinking about it_ , he told himself, sharply.  _Stop thinking about it, or you will find yourself in a state of embarrassment._  

“I’m sure he’ll calm down, in a few days,” Hawke admitted.  “Seeing me so very… pregnant… had to have been a shock.  Not to mention looking so different, even if he claims he knew exactly who I was.  He’s probably got a lot of anger going on, because we didn’t tell him and made all these plans without him.”

“We couldn’t be sure,” Fenris said, and Hawke simply shook her head.

“You know, Anders said the same about you.  He said we couldn’t be certain that you wouldn’t just turn the baby over to the Chantry.  You haven’t exactly made your stance on mages much of a secret, Fenris.  For a long while, they told me not to even bring you with me on jobs because they were afraid you would wind up turning me in to the templars as well.”

“I… Hawke, I would never… _Marian_ , I would never turn you.  You are… you are unlike any woman I have ever met, any _mage_ I have ever heard of,” he said, earnestly and urgently, turning her body so that she was facing him.  “I… not our _child_ , Marian.”  How could she think that of him?  Those words, if anything, sent his thoughts scattering away from moaning sounds and soft body under his hands.

“No, Fenris,” she said, cupping his jaw with the palm of her hand.  “No, I know that, even if some of the others are too dumb to realize it.  And really, that was only in the beginning, and the rest of it was just Anders.”  She shrugged, uncomfortably.  “Anders is a good man, though I understand some of the reasons why you might dislike him, but he has a rather limited world view in regards to things, and when it comes to mages, the world is black or white.  To him, not to me.”

“You have taught me that the world is full of color in regards to that topic,” Fenris replied, dryly.  “It has not eased my distrust; there is too much in Kirkwall to keep my opinion the way it has been.  But knowing you, and hearing how your sister was, and your Father…  It has changed my perception, some.  There are good mages, the foil to the ones I knew back in Tevinter.  I have simply met very few of them in my time.  Perhaps the north is not a good place for those gifted with magic?” he asked, finally.

“Perhaps not,” she agreed.  “But my Father was from the Kirkwall Circle, so even here, there is good to be found.  It’s simply more difficult to find it.”  They shared a smile, and then, so suddenly that she didn’t have time to expect it, he pulled her against him, looked into her eyes for something, he didn’t know what, and then pressed his lips against her for the fourth time that day. 

It wasn’t a quick kiss, not like the ones he had given her earlier, and he knew he wasn’t particularly skilled at it, but her lips parted against his and he felt the tip of her tongue against his mouth.  Fenris parted his own lips, then deepened the kiss, suddenly feeling a heady rush of want go through him.  His arms circled her, holding her loosely against him, at first, and then, the longer their lips were together, more tightly.  His tongue danced against hers and Hawke moaned slightly, pressed into him a little bit more.  This was too much, it was too fast, and it wasn’t fast enough.  He wasn’t sure what was going to happen next, but he wanted, desperately, to find out.

A cough and a laugh from the stairs had the two separating as quickly as two teenagers caught necking. He could feel the flush rush up to the tips of his ears again and he scrambled to stand up off the sofa, looking away from both of them and adjusting his clothes, hoping that he could hide evidence of his budding arousal.  That was the last thing he needed, around Carver; Hawke might excuse it, might even welcome it.  Carver would simply mock and tease, and he wanted nothing to cause more distress to Hawke.

“I thought you two ‘weren’t together,’ _Mary_?” Carver said, cruelly drawing attention to things that didn’t need attention drawn to them.

“Carver, can’t you just shut it?” Hawke asked, covering her eyes with the palm of one hand. 

“You two are the biggest—“

“CARVER HAWKE, YOU WILL SHUT IT NOW OR I WILL KICK YOUR ASS BACK TO KIRKWALL,” Hawke shouted at him, her voice going hoarse with the force.  Even Fenris was taken aback by how loudly she was shouting, as Hawke’s temper was not generally one that went in that direction.  He hated shouting, and winced at it.  Neither Hawke nor Carver seemed to notice, however.

“Maker, Marian, you need to shut it,” Carver said, putting his hands over his ears.  “Fine, fine, I’ll drop it for now.”

“You’ll drop it or you’ll leave, Carver,” Hawke told him, hands on hips and all seriousness.

“Fine, I’ll drop it for good, then.  But this isn’t the last you’ve heard from me about it.  I’ll just bring it up a different way.”

“Carver….”

He threw up his hands and marched straight out the back door, muttering something so uncomplimentary that Fenris took an automatic step towards him.  If someone had called Hawke that in The Hanged Man, Fenris would have felt fully justified in breaking his kneecaps, regardless of his relationship with Hawke.  That her own _brother_ suggested it…

“Do I even want to know what he said?” Hawke asked, and Fenris simply shook his head. 

“Your brother is like the dregs of spiced wine.  You and Bethany obviously got all the good qualities,” he told her, before pulling his cloak off the coat rack and shrugging into it.  “I won’t befoul your ears with what he said.  Suffice it to say, if he uses such language about you again, he and I will have more than words.”  And then Fenris was out the front door, leaving Hawke behind him.  It seemed as though The Badger would have another patron, and one a little bit early, at that, today.  Meanwhile, he would think on this latest kiss, and try to discern what it meant between himself and Hawke. 


End file.
